


A Light That Never Goes Out

by heyjupiter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 07:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19883641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heyjupiter/pseuds/heyjupiter
Summary: It's 1987. There's a hole in the ozone layer, the horrors of Chernobyl are still fresh, and Stark Industries has just been outed as a major polluter. Despite all of that, Tony Stark can't stop thinking about the cute clerk at Revengers Records.





	A Light That Never Goes Out

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Science Bros Week Day #6, "Record."
> 
> Thanks to volunteerfd for beta reading, my own personal light that will never go out. She also suggested that this fic could be titled "Manic Pixie Dream Bruce" and she is not wrong.

Tony parked the Porsche in Central Square perfectly with minutes to spare before his interview. It was unusual for him to be so early, but he wanted to make a good impression. He stepped onto the curb and fumbled for change to feed the meter, cursing when he came up empty-handed. He could risk a ticket, but Cambridge police were notoriously ticket-happy. The car was technically in Howard's name, and Tony really wasn't in the mood to hear another lecture about responsibility from his father. He looked around and saw that he was right in front of a drab little storefront, Revengers Records.

He pushed open the door. A bell jingled, but the floppy-haired cashier didn’t raise his head from his book. Tony stood in front of the register and cleared his throat. Still no response. He said, "Hi. Excuse me?"

Finally, the cashier looked up. He was wearing black plastic glasses and his wavy brown hair fell over one eye; the visible eye had a bored expression. His black long-sleeved T-shirt had "Meat is Murder" stenciled on it, and his name tag identified him as Bruce. "Yeah?"

"I was just wondering if I could get some change for the meter? Could you break a, uh," Tony dug in his billfold and winced, "a fifty?"

Bruce shook his head and tapped a sign in front of the register: "No change given without purchase." He returned his attention to his book--Tony was close enough to tell it was a differential equations textbook. An impressive topic for a record store clerk. 

Tony looked around the claustrophobic store. Every square inch was packed with shelves and boxes of LPs. "Okay, so, I’ll buy something. Where are the CDs?" Buying a new CD would cost more than a parking ticket, but Howard wouldn't have to hear about it. Besides, Tony was always happy to expand his music collection.

"This is a _record_ store."

"It’s 1987! Compact discs are the future of records!" Tony was guiltily aware that CD stereos were a little out of some people's price range at the moment, but surely by the end of the decade everyone will have tossed out their record players and tape decks and never looked back. 

"Sure, if you’re willing to trade audio quality for, for...shininess. There are some cassettes on the long table in the back. If you want CDs, there's a Sam Goody at the Galleria."

"But with CDs you can skip to the song you want to hear."

"Albums are meant to be played straight through."

"CDs are--" Tony started, and forced himself to stop. He didn’t need CDs. He needed quarters before the Cambridge police got on his ass, and he could always come back and argue about technology with the cute clerk later. "Okay, fine." He looked around the cramped store and spotted a "Staff Picks" display. Apparently, Val recommended _Glorious Results of a Misspent Youth_ by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, Thor recommended _III_ by Led Zeppelin, Loki recommended _The Head on the Door_ by The Cure, and Bruce recommended _The Queen is Dead_ by The Smiths. A small, hand-written card under the album said simply, "The Smiths saved my life." Tony picked up the album and took it to the register. 

Bruce looked up from his book. "You like the Smiths?" he asked. 

"I don’t know them, but I saw that this really cute cashier recommended them," Tony said breezily, handing over his $50 bill.

A faint blush crept over Bruce’s pale cheeks as he counted out Tony’s change, including a $10 roll of quarters. He brushed his bangs out of his face and said softly, "Um. I hope you like it. I think it's the best album of the decade so far." He no longer looked bored. His face had picked up an intense expression that made Tony wonder what it would be like to lean across the counter and kiss him. 

"Better than _Back in Black_?" Tony asked.

" _Way_ better."

"Wow. Well, I can't wait to listen to it. Thanks for all the quarters," Tony said, with a wink. He ran out to feed the meter, kicking himself for not getting Bruce’s number on his way out. He stuck the album in his briefcase and sauntered down the block to a nondescript office building. 

He’d applied for a summer internship with Greenpeace under a pseudonym, just to see how far he might get in the process. He had a million reasons ready, if anyone asked why the heir to Stark Industries wanted to work there: it would make his dad mad, he was curious, he wanted to do some good, he was lucky enough that he didn’t actually need to earn money over the summer, he’d recently come to understand exactly how much SI had contributed to the hole in the ozone layer and he felt terrible about it...He thought had an answer that would satisfy any asker. Including, hopefully, the interviewer. He’d started the application on a dare but as he learned more about the organization--and more about SI--he really did want to intern there.

Unfortunately, he never even got a chance to plead his case--the interviewer immediately recognized him and threatened to have security escort him out. He refused to give Tony a chance to explain himself. 

Tony walked back to his car with his head held high and his teeth gritted. At least soon he could drink about this with Rhodey. Really, he’d be fine. He could work at SI again the summer like Howard had assumed he would. It wouldn’t kill him. Probably. 

He paused outside the record shop. He glanced in the window and saw that Bruce was still there, head bent over his textbook. He fed another quarter into the meter, even though he hadn't been gone that long, and walked back into the store. He took the Smiths album out of his briefcase and held it in front of Bruce’s face. 

Bruce looked up, a wary expression on his face. "Oh. Did you want to return that? I can only give you store credit for it…"

"No! No, I want to listen to it. But the thing is, I realized that I don’t own a record player anymore." This was technically true, although someone in his house probably had one he could have borrowed. But nobody he lived with was as cute as this clerk.

"We don’t sell record players. You’ll have to--"

"I don’t want to buy a record player. I just thought maybe I could listen to it here?"

Bruce gave Tony a piercing look. Tony couldn’t believe it but he felt his eyes start to prick with tears. He’d already been shot down by his internship today. He didn’t need another round of rejection from some scenester record store clerk.

He set his jaw and started to say "Nev--" when Bruce plucked the album from his hand and bent under the counter. Tony wiped his eyes with his hand. No tears had actually escaped his eyes, they'd just briefly considered it. Good: he was Tony Stark, he had to keep it together, in public at least. He took a deep breath and felt more composed when the music that had been playing in the store--Tony hadn't recognized it--stopped for a moment, and then the store filled with the sounds of some kind of children's choir chanting. Tony wondered if Bruce was playing a prank. 

Bruce stood back up. He set the _The Queen is Dead_ record sleeve on the counter. Then he bent back down and handed Tony a plastic milk crate. Tony looked down at the crate with confusion.

"You can sit on it if you want," Bruce mumbled. He sat back on his stool and turned his attention to his book again. The music transitioned away from whatever the creepy intro was and into some kind of British pop rock. It was lighter than what Tony usually preferred, but he didn't hate it so far. He set the crate on the floor at the end of the counter and sat down. He shrugged off his blazer and folded it over his lap.

"Hey, so, where do you go to school?" Tony asked. "I took diff eq last semester--"

"--You said you wanted to listen to the album," Bruce interrupted, without looking up from his book.

"So I did." Tony sat on the crate and listened. He watched as a few cute punk girls came into pick up some albums they'd special-ordered, British imports with intimidating cover art. They flirted wildly with Bruce, who seemed to be oblivious. Eventually, they sighed and left, shooting death glares at Tony on their way out.

Tony kept quiet for fear of disturbing Bruce. The singer's voice was melodic, but kind of mumbly. The lyrics were a little hard to understand if he didn't pay close attention. Normally, he would have been working on homework or something while listening, but all he had in his stupid briefcase was a copy of his resume in case someone from Greenpeace had wanted to see it during his interview. 

So he just sat and listened. Tony's mind was usually all over the place, and it was surprisingly pleasant to be forced into stillness. Sometimes he spaced out and thought about his upcoming finals, his summer plans, what he was going to drink tonight...and then a rousing chorus or unusual melody would hook him and he'd focus back in on the music. And some of the lyrics...some of the lyrics really got to him. He'd really never heard anything quite like it. He'd never expected to feel so peaceful sitting on a milk crate in a shabby little store.

And then the album circled back to the beginning, with the children singing.

"What do you think so far?" Bruce asked.

"I'll tell you if you tell me where you go to school."

"Harvard. You?" Bruce asked matter-of-factly.

"MIT."

"Hmm. What do you think about the album?"

"What's up with these kids singing?"

"It's not kids. It's sampled from an old movie about World War I. It's a patriotic music hall song." Bruce paused and added, "They're using it ironically."

"Oh. Right." Tony furrowed his eyebrows and thought about the way Howard and his marketing team used SI's involvement with World War II to mask the company's flaws. They'd helped defeat Hitler! How could anyone accuse them of doing anything bad thirty years later? It was simply unpatriotic to suggest that they'd been consistently paying off EPA inspectors, never mind the convincing paper trail that the Boston Globe had recently uncovered. "Would you start it again?"

Bruce gave him a small, pure smile. He restarted the album and Tony listened intently, even as Bruce grumpily helped some other customers. He seemed to have an encyclopedic knowledge of the store's contents. A few times Bruce came out from behind the counter to help someone find something out of the store's maze of boxes, and Tony got to see how good Bruce's butt looked in his faded, ripped jeans.

They listened to all of Side A again. When Tony looked up, Bruce had put away his diff eq book and replaced it with an astrophysics textbook. 

Sounding shy, Bruce asked, "So, you like it?"

"I really do," Tony said. Bruce looked at him expectantly, and Tony said, "It's, um...it's seems really...honest? But kind of funny, too? But...also sad."

"Yes!" Bruce said. "I'm glad you're hearing it for the first time on vinyl. It sounds so much better...warmer and fuller."

"Yeah. Me too," Tony replied, holding Bruce's gaze. Bruce bit his lip and looked down. 

"I'll flip the album…." Bruce ducked down under the counter again.

"You know, you don't have to flip CDs!" Tony called.

Bruce ignored him and returned to his spot at the register. Tony sat on the crate and listened to Side B. A young girl came in and carefully counted out nickels and dimes to buy a copy of the _Dirty Dancing_ soundtrack.

"Hey, mister, um, you gave me too much change…" she said softly.

"No, that one's on sale," Bruce replied.

"It wasn't on the sale shelf…"

Bruce shrugged. "Someone must have put it away wrong." 

Tony glanced to the main display wall of bestselling LPs, which had about ten other copies of that album, all marked at full list price. The girl shrugged and put her money back into her plastic change purse. She said, "Okay...thanks!" and ran out the door, clutching the album to her chest.

Tony said, “Uh, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but I don’t think that was misshelved…”

Bruce mumbled, "I gave her my employee discount, I know she's been saving her allowance for weeks...I just thought she could use a little help." He immediately turned his focus back to his book. 

Tony smiled to himself as Bruce furrowed his eyebrows with concentration and chewed on the end of his pencil in thought. He watched as Bruce closed his eyes and mouthed along with the words, _Oh, please don't drop me home, because it's not my home, it's their home, and I'm welcome no more_ , and he realized he felt just the same.

Side B ended and Bruce turned it off before it could start again. Silence hung in the record store for a moment, until the bell over the door jingled and a customer entered. A guy asked Bruce for change for the meters, and Bruce rolled his eyes and tapped his "no change" sign. The guy grumbled something under his breath and left without buying anything.

When they were again alone in the store, Bruce asked, "So what did you think?"

"What did you mean when you said this band saved your life?"

"That's kind of personal."

Tony considered for a moment. "Fair enough." Then, weakened by the melancholy music, he blurted out, "I think it's just--I think--maybe my life needs saving?"

"Are you saying you're suicidal?" Bruce asked. He sounded--concerned, not judgmental.

"No, no. Not that. Just...just stuck, I guess."

"What are you stuck in?"

"Just--I--I dunno. Everyone thinks I'll work in the family business, take it over one day. But I--don't think I want to. I don't think...I don't think our family business is...good?" Tony confessed.

"What's your family business?"

"Stark Industries."

"Oh. _Oh._ " Bruce's eyes widened. "Yeah, they're pretty bad. No offense."

"None taken," Tony mumbled. "I--this afternoon, I tried to get an internship with Greenpeace, because--because, I don't know, I thought I could help. Maybe undo some of the pollution my father's company has caused. But I--they wouldn't even give me a chance to interview, to explain. They just looked at me and assumed...I don't even know what they assumed. Nothing good."

"Hmm. Well, fuck Greenpeace."

"What?"

"I said, fuck Greenpeace. You're not your father. They should have given you a chance."

"Okay, but aren't--aren't you a vegetarian?"

"...How did you know that?"

"Your shirt?" 

Bruce looked down at his chest. "Oh. _Meat is Murder_ is another Smiths album. I, um, am a vegetarian though, but I didn't--that's not the point."

"Oh. Um, what is the point?"

"My point is, if you're Tony Stark, you don't need Greenpeace. You can start your own nonprofit. You can do whatever you want."

"...oh." Tony considered that. "But, I mean, I don't think people will take me seriously."

"So? A lot of people don't take Greenpeace seriously either."

Tony blinked. "Well, that's fair, I guess." His mind spun with ideas. He could probably convince Howard that an environmental initiative would be good PR. Which it would be, but Tony could make sure that it also actually _helped_. He smiled widely.

"I think this is the happiest I've ever seen a person look after listening to a Smiths album," Bruce said drily.

"Oh, I mean--I really did like the music, I mean it was sad but, I don't know, beautiful? But--now I'm just thinking about the ozone layer? I mean, ways to save it."

Bruce smiled. "Cool."

"Thank you, by the way, for--listening to me."

"Thank _you_ for listening to the Smiths."

"Hey, so, how much longer is your shift?"

"I'm here til close, which is 8 tonight."

Tony checked his watch; it was just after 5. He smiled. "So you're saying there's time for you to play a few more albums for me?"

"Oh. Um, yeah, sure."

"If you don't want to, that's fine. I could just go home and put some CDs on shuffle."

"You're teasing me, but that would only hurt yourself," Bruce sniffed. "What kind of music do you usually listen to?"

"Definitely rock. AC/DC, GnR, Motley Crue...you know, stuff you can scream to."

"Ah." Bruce nodded and said knowingly, "I went through a screaming phase too, but then I started therapy and now I usually prefer stuff you can cry to. You like the Talking Heads?"

"Oh yeah, sure, 'Once in a Lifetime.'"

Bruce smiled. "You should go feed your meter."

"Shit!" Tony ran out to his car. Thankfully, it remained unticketed.

When he returned, Bruce put on a live Talking Heads album. He asked, "So, Tony, what are you studying at MIT?"

"Oh, are we allowed to talk over the music now?" Tony asked playfully.

Bruce winced. "Sorry...I know I'm kind of intense sometimes."

"I happen to like intense. And, I'm studying electrical engineering. You?"

"Astrophysics."

They sat and listened and chatted for the rest of the evening, occasionally interrupted by more pesky customers. The store seemed to do a decent business, for a place that refused to stock the best format for music. And Bruce turned out to know a lot about the environment and--when he wasn't shushing Tony for talking over favorite parts of songs--he had some great ideas for ways SI could become a greener, more eco-conscious company.

At 8 PM, Bruce said, "Well...I've got to reconcile the register and stuff before I lock up for the night. But it was, uh, nice to meet you, Tony."

"Nice to meet you too, Bruce. But, hey, I was thinking, I probably owe you rent for occupying that crate all day, huh?" Bruce started to shake his head "no," but Tony persisted, "So I was thinking I could buy you dinner tonight? After you lock up the store?"

Bruce grinned and brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I guess that would be fair," he acknowledged. "It is a pretty good crate."

"Mm-hmm, really top-tier crate," agreed Tony. Encouraged by Bruce's smile, he added, "Prime real estate. I really probably owe you dinner _and_ breakfast for using it so long."

Bruce bit his lip and ducked his head, but he nodded as he came out from behind the register to sweep the store. Tony leaned against the counter, having returned his crate. Bruce slung a beat-up backpack over his shoulder and led Tony out onto the street. He locked up the front door and said, "Thanks for waiting. Where to now?"

"Do you have a preference?"

Bruce smiled shyly and said, "Oh, take me anywhere, I don't care."

Tony took Bruce by the hand and led him to his car, feeling a delicious sense of anticipation for the rest of the evening, like he'd just hit play on a new album that he already knew was going to be great. They'd only met hours ago, but his life already felt brighter for having Bruce in it.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I just want to say that I KNOW Morrissey is a Problematic Fave for a multitude of reasons but most people didn't know that in 1987, so like, please don't @ me about Morrissey. 
> 
> Second of all, this fic's title (and the song that Bruce is mouthing along with) is ["There is a Light That Never Goes Out" by The Smiths](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=siO6dkqidc4). 
> 
> However, I was more recently inspired by [Demi Adejuyigbe's version of "There is a Light That Never Goes Out"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F0XhwXMP3AE) for the Punch Up the Jam podcast which I highly recommend. I watched that video about 10 times in a row, just cry-laughing to myself. But then I got the song in my head for a week and wrote this fic ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
